The Other Side of the Story
by Jaster Mereel
Summary: Because I hope to have this published, I can't use the main character's 'real' name. PLEASE REVIEW!!


AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've altered the traditional properties of the vampire, because there are so many different variations of the vampire myth (some of which predate Christianity) that there is no one 'definitive' version. Moreover, for legal reasons I can't tell you who this story is really about, although that should become clear. Finally, if I get some things wrong, well...too bad.  
  
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY  
  
I am a vampire.  
  
More specifically, I am the most famous vampire the world has ever known, and the first. I do not wish to reveal my name, or at least not the one by which I am most commonly known, for obvious reasons. Suffice it to say that a vast number of books, plays, and movies have been made about me. Personally, I always thought Bela Lugosi best captured my role, but never mind that. I am not writing a cinematic review. I am going to tell the story of my life. The REAL story, not the garbled half-truths promulgated by a certain nineteenth century author (initials B.S).  
  
I do not mean to dismiss his work. The story he tells is a good one, and it is fairly close to the facts he is concerned with. But it is not the whole story. I want to set the record straight, by revealing for the first time my story. Note that, for obvious reasons of both security and legality I will not be using my well-known nom du guerre, for want of a better term.  
  
PART 1: LIFE AND DEATH  
  
I was not born to the name you are probably most familiar with. Rather I was born Michael Phanariot, in the year of Our Lord 1439, two hundred years before my family came to the throne of our small nation. I was the first of three sons born to a wealthy family of purest noble stock, in what was then known as Walachia. Ours was not a family of merchant 'nobles', of commoners who had bought themselves a title. Ours was a family of warriors, with many brave heroes in our ancestry.  
  
My childhood was a happy one. I was raised in relative luxury, never wanting for food, and never having to suffer true pain or hunger. Our family owned a fair sized keep, on the outskirts of a large town(that is to say, one that contained more than a thousand people). Much of my time was spent in hunting and playing, as was true of all young noblemen.  
  
That is not to say that I did not receive an education. After all, as my father would often tell me "Conquering land is simple boy. Any oaf can do it. But ruling it once you have it, aye, that's a devilishly difficult business". Thus, my parents insisted that I be educated, that I might rule better I was taught fairly well, learning history, poetry as well as how to read and write (both in Latin and our own ) from the local monks. I learned the various social graces from the servants, and how to do basic arithmetic from our tax collector. But to a child of my standing, these skills were all superfluous. At the time I saw no reason to burden myself with such 'useless' skills as literacy.  
  
As I said before, I am descended from a long line of warriors and heroes. It had been impressed upon me long before that combat was the only honorable profession for our line. Thus, while a third of my schooling was dedicated to academia, the rest of my time was spent learning the 'manly art' of war. I remember once looking up from my text (I believe it was a theological dissertation), and gazing out the window. It was a bright summer's day, and the sun glinting off the Danube turned the water silver. I remember wishing a multitude of plagues on the monks that were instructing me, and aching for it to be time to practice my swordplay. I did not even consider how fortunate I was to be getting an education, and not toiling endlessly on a serf's holding. Such a life was totally alien to me.  
  
In my academic pursuits I was mediocre at best. But in my combat training I excelled, garnering praise from my grizzled veteran instructors on my skill and strength. This was due in part to natural ability, and in part to my pride in my ancestry. I came from a line of heroes; therefore it was my duty to do them, and Walachia, proud. So I applied myself body and soul to my lessons. I even partook of a few battles, distinguishing myself greatly. But, as the saying goes, "pride goeth before the fall".  
  
As I approached manhood (that is, the age of fifteen), my family became embroiled in a power struggle with another noble house. I was too young to truly understand what was involved, or even who we were struggling with. To this day, I have no idea which family caused my downfall. For you see, my family was losing. We were slowly becoming disempowered, and all our military prowess was of no vale against court intrigue. I knew then that I had to do something. I hit upon a plan; I would give Satan my soul, and in exchange, would ask him to insure the success of my House. Remember that this was in the late Middle Ages, when belief in such things was still strong.  
  
It would be impossible to relate the factors that led to this decision. For one thing, they were very complex, and would be difficult to articulate properly. Furthermore, my decision was not entirely logical, and thus my reasons aren't truly relevant. In any event, I decided to save my family by selling my soul. I knew the risks inherent in this plan, but felt that the survival of my House preceded any concern for myself.  
  
I went to a monk, and told him that I was the messenger for Brother Johan, the monastery's archivist. I told him that Brother Johann required texts on Satan and on witchcraft. After some searching he handed me a thick book, entitled "Confessions of Diabolists And Heretics", and it was composed of the confessions of convicted witches. Before letting me depart, the priest cautioned me " Do not open that book, my child. Upon you soul's salvation, do not read the foul words contained within". I swore to him that I would not, feeling not the least bit guilty. After all, I was preparing to sell my soul. What could one false oath mean now? I walked home slowly, not afraid (for fear has never held great power over me) but apprehensive. Satan is the Father of Lies, how could I trust him to honor a bargain and save my family? By the time I got home I had resolved to read the book from cover to cover before I did anything else. It was difficult, and not only because my reading skills were lacking. I had to read the book in secret, as it had been pronounced heretical by the Church. If it were found in my possession, I might be burned as a witch myself, noble blood not withstanding. But, over the next month, I managed to complete the tome.  
  
I came to one conclusion. While those making deals with the devil inevitably came out with less than they had anticipated, they never came out with less than they had actually agreed to. That is, one might trade one's soul for eternal life, only to discover that this did not mean an end to aging. Conversely one might wish death on an enemy, only to be convicted of his murder. The Fallen One, it seemed, delighted in keeping the letter of the law, in such a way that the damned were worse off than before. I decided to proceed with my plan, but only after I carefully drew up my bargain. While I have long since forgotten the actual text, it went something like this:  
  
I, Michael Phanariot, do hereby give my soul over to Satan and to Hell. In exchange, he is to insure the triumph of the Phanariot family in their current troubles. Moreover, he is to guarantee their continued survival, happiness and prosperity for a period no less than three hundred years, and to leave them alone forever.  
  
When this rudimentary contract was completed I contrived to summon the Lord of Darkness. I followed the standard procedure: a circle drawn in goat's blood, containing a pentagram composed of human blood. Luckily no one would miss one old beggar, and even if they did, I was a noble and would never be punished. It was an odd evening, as one cannot summon a true lord of the abyss before midnight, nor after the first hour of day. I kept trying to picture what my new master would look like. I imagined a great horned beast, with skin the color of blood, and immense leathery wings.  
  
I mumbled the standard incantations at midnight, in my father's great hall, beneath the impassive gaze of his hunting trophies. In a burst of fire and sulphurous black smoke there appeared before me...a man.  
  
He was a tall man, standing at least six foot two by modern measurements. He had long hair, reaching nearly to his shoulders, which was as black as obsidian. In contrast, his skin was as pale as milk, without a single blemish to mar its surface. His teeth were also flawless being a complete set, and as white as pearls. Given the period in history this was very unusual indeed. His dress was a bit out of the ordinary, consisting of a black robe and a golden amulet. It is impossible to describe this amulet, as it seemed to be constantly changing, now resembling a snake, then a skull, and then a dragon-like beast with feathers and a goats head. But it was his eyes that were his most noticeable feature. They were as blue as sapphires, and they seemed to be glowing. All in all, he was not quite what I had been expecting.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity he looked at me and said in a crisp clear voice "Well? Surely you did not perform the ritual simply to stare at me, did you?" His tone was at once annoyed and resigned, as if he did not think much would come of this meeting, but was used to this by now. I managed to overcome my shock long enough to blurt out " Who-who ARE you?! Surely you are not Lucifer, the Fallen Angel! Where is your master?!!"  
  
He laughed, a pleasant sound, which for some reason chilled me to the bone. "You humans. So certain in your black and white view of the world that you assume it for the afterlife. Is there only one king upon earth?" I shook my head. "Then why do you believe there can be only one ruler in Hell? In fact there are many. Nor are any of them 'fallen angels'. They, like me, are demons by birth, sworn to serve God by preserving His divine paln, and punishing His enemies. My name is Ashlon, and I serve Shza'alcor, lord of the pit". I was flabbergasted at the idea that demons thought they served God, andbut wisely decided to keep this opinion to myself. Instead I murmured "Nevertheless, I did not call you forth to discuss the nature of the universe. I want to make a bargain". I presented him with the terms I had drawn up. He looked them over, and pronounced them acceptable. "But, of course," he amended " we must decide what you are to give us in return. Shza'alcor, may he reign forever, is not in the habit of doing favors for nothing. Such a thing would be unnatural "  
  
I was by this time getting a trifle unnerved by that cool, unruffled countenance. "What the deuce are you talking of" I exclaimed, my temper rising "Have I not already stated my willingness to give over my soul?". The strange being waved away my objections with a hint of impatience. "Yes, yes, yes" said he "but in what way are you to serve us? As a guard, a soldier, a corrupter, a pit-tender? Or are you completely useless, even to us?"  
  
"I believed that my soul would simply be damned to Hell" I said, feeling (to my surprise) somewhat foolish "Is this not the case? Will I not be tormented forever?" I was beginning to hope for a better fate than I had previously anticipated. He looked me over, and snorted in derision. "Given your personality, damnation was always your likely fate. As for simply taking you to Hell, don't be ridiculous. My glorious master would gain nothing by this, as we have more than enough beings toiling in Hell, thank you. No, by selling me your soul you volunteer to serve Hell, in some capacity. Hmmm..."  
  
He mulled it over for a few seconds, and then moved to the window, and gazed out at the darkened countryside, plainly immersed in deep consideration. "Humanity has begun to disturb the balance of nature," he said, more to himself than to me "Exceeding their natural boundaries both in geography and in population. They need a predator. You may serve as such". "Me?" I said, with more than a little trepidation. What could this bizarre daemon be talking about?  
  
"Yes you!" he said, clearly warming to the idea. He strode back to my side and placed his hand on my shoulder. His grip was cold as frost and strong as a vise. I felt disgusted by its proximity. "We will make you into a new sort of creature, immortal, powerful, deadly. You will, of course, lose some things to gain these powers, but, Michael" this was the first time he had used my name, and it made my hair stand on end, "I have been watching you. I know you better than you know yourself. You will thrive in this new life". Abruptly, he turned away, and moved back towards the circle from which he had come. "I do not have the power to do this myself, Michael. But some very powerful beings have taken an interest in you. I will return tomorrow night with their decision", and with that, he vanished in a burst of foul-smelling flame.  
  
You can imagine how the next day went. I was consumed by anxiety, the first I had ever experienced. What if these beings (whoever they were) decided not to follow Ashlon's plan? What would become of me then? At the same time I worried about what would happen if they agreed. I had never felt fear before, and so I dealt with these worries far worse than I might.  
  
Though it seemed to take an eternity the appointed hour eventually came. I was in the great hall, idly wondering if I was meant to once again summon Ashlon, when a circle composed of fire whooshed into being before me. It encompassed a pentagram of blue flame, from which burst forth Ashlon and the most hideous being I have ever laid eyes on. It was bloated, with a crocodiles-skull for a head, and no legs that I could see. It's hair was stringy and the color of vomit. In contrast Ashlon looked more striking than ever before. "L-lord Shiza'alcor?" I squeaked, my tongue tied with terror.  
  
The beast smirked with obvious pride, while Ashlon looked quite insulted. "Do not be a fool, boy!" he snapped "You may have more importance than most mortals, but no living being has ever, or will ever, lay eyes upon the glory of my master. This is merely Barztuulh, the corrupter"  
  
"C-c-corrupter" I said, fully as frightened as before. If it had been Shiza'alcor, at least I would know that the plan had been approved. Heaven only knew what this abomination was to do to me.  
  
"Yes boy, corrupter. My plan has been approved" Ashlon said, now quite proud himself "Barztuulh is here to remake you. BARZTUULH!!". The corrupter meanwhile had wandered off to examine the various heads that my father kept as proof of his proficiency in the hunt. It seemed particularly interested in a lion, killed by my sire during his time in the last Crusade. It kept stroking the fangs, almost cooing at the dead beast. At Ashlon's call it came, dragging itself forward using its long arms.  
  
"Not worry bo-o-oy" it said, its voice raspy and its breath redolent of odors best left undescribed, "You not feeel a th-h-i-i-i-i-ng". It leaned over and breathed hard into my face. The stench was unimaginable, but I fell instantly into the deepest sleep I have ever known. Thus, I do not know how I was transformed from human being to vampire.  
  
When I awoke I felt...different. Lighter, more in touch with the world. Things seemed, more real more...there. As an example I immediately noticed that Barztuulh was gone, and that the lions head was gone. I soon discovered that this new realness stemmed from heightened senses, and that my light feeling was due to increased strength. Yet I did not feel right. My entire body seemed to be suffering hunger pangs. I must have looked truly pathetic because Ashlon laughed. It was even worse than the first time, because I heard it much better.  
  
After a time he managed to stop laughing at my pain. "Oh, I forgot!" he said sounding almost believable "I never told you about the trade-offs".  
  
"Trade-offs?" I repeated "What do you mean trade offs?"  
  
He grinned with black good humor and replied "Well, we gave you strength, immortality, and powers you can't even imagine yet. You didn't think all these things would come without some limitations did you?". I had to admit that I had. Ashlon then went on to explain my powers and limitations. I had (and still have) the power to change myself into a rat, a wolf, even into a fog! I could read minds and call storms, and scale walls like a spider. But most impressive of all was my strength. As a test, I picked up the poker that was by the fireplace, and bent it double using only my bare hands.  
  
But all this power did not come without a price. Ashlon explained to me that, in two days, I would sicken and enter a death-like trance, and be buried. Thirteen days after the burial, I would rise, Christ-like, to live a new life. But there were limitations. For the first hundred years, sunlight would destroy me. Even after that time, the light of the sun would render me as powerless as any mortal, slowly draining me of all my powers, and eventually killing me. Therefore, I must spend at least one day in two resting in the soil of my grave. Nor was the sun my only foe. Fire, and certain magical spells could also annihilate me, and all holy symbols (not just crosses) would be anathema to me.  
  
But simple rest would not sustain me. At this point Ashlon was positively frantic with glee "You see" he gloated "just as humans require both food AND rest, so too do you require nourishment. What you need, Michael, is blood. Human blood"  
  
"WHAT?!" I cried out, reeling with horror at the very idea "I would be a vampire! I will never do it!" "Ah, but you will. What is more, I doubt you will even resist it after the first time" Ashlon said "As for 'vampires', no such thing has ever existed. Until now. You are the first, the first of many. A new Adam, requiring no Eve to reproduce. Now, to make sure that you feed, and thus survive to fulfill your end of our bargain, I have brought you a surprise. BARZTUUHL!!"  
  
The foul beast had returned, seemingly from nowhere. What's more, he had with him a local peasant girl I recognized as Anya, the prettiest maiden in the town. She was young about fifteen, with hair like gold and skin as white as milk. I rather liked her, although we had, of course, never spoken. But I knew by her reputation that she was a sweet girl, kind and generous, and most definitely did not deserve to die. I knew, intellectually, that to kill such a girl would be an act of purest evil. However, the feral part of me knew that only her blood could assuage the terrible, burning hunger that plagued me. I advanced on her against my will, and as I did so, I felt two of my teeth (what are today referred to as 'canines') growing longer, until they were a good two inches long. I bit down on the soft, pale neck, and felt the blood flowing into my mouth.  
  
Much has been writtten about how blood tastes to a vampire. The current opinion is that blood tastes like ambrosia to us. This is not entirely accurate. In truth, all blood tastes different which makes sense when one considers that there are different blood types, Rh factors, and more that differentiate the blood of individual mortals. For instance, type A blood typically tastes sweet, while type B tastes somewhat salty. Interestingly type AB tastes nothing like either of the others, but (for some reason I cannot fathom) tastes like carrots. I have even discovered that HIV infected blood has a completely unique taste, at once sweet and sickly, as if the very scent of decay and disease were given a flavor. But I get ahead of myself. Anya was type B, and although I have drunk oceans of blood since that night, never has it been as good as that. All I could think was 'I know this is wrong...but oh..GOD...it's so... GOOD!'  
  
Eventually I had enough, and I began to cry for my lost humanuty. Ashlon laughed (cackled, really) and bellowed "Now, vampire you are ours, body and soul! Michael Phenariot is no more! Choose for yourself a new name, servant of Hell!". With that, he vanished in a burst of fire.  
  
I did, and that name will live forever, a universal symbol of eternal evil and death. 


End file.
